


sleeping through the days

by viridae



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Recovery, andrew minyard deserves peace and happiness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-04
Updated: 2020-04-04
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:21:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23472370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/viridae/pseuds/viridae
Summary: The first time, Andrew wakes up swinging.Or, the evolution of Andrew and Neil learning how to sleep in the same bed.
Relationships: Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard
Comments: 30
Kudos: 468





	sleeping through the days

**Author's Note:**

> i've had this in my drafts for months and this social distancing finally made me post it!

The first time, Andrew wakes up swinging. 

His fist slams into Neil’s gut before either of them are fully awake. Neil wheezes out a pained cough, half off the bed, and Andrew scrambles to press himself against the wall. Walls are solid. Walls are stable. Walls mean no one is behind him. 

Neil rolls off the bed fully to turn on the lights. Andrew squints against the brightness, eyes adjusting to the light.

“What the hell,” Kevin groans, and throws an arm over his eyes. “Turn the lights off.” 

Neil obligingly dims them, but his jaw is set and he has an arm wrapped around his middle, hunched over slightly. They make frantic, panicked eye contact for a moment. 

A minute passes in silence, and Kevin’s breathing evens out again, slow and steady. Andrew copies his rhythm. In, out. Repeat. 

“Do you need me to go?” Neil asks quietly, the silence splintering. Andrew catalogues the heavy iron weight sinking in his gut, whether or not he can stomach another person’s skin on his. 

“Yes,” he says finally, and Neil nods. 

They spend the rest of the night sleeping in separate beds.

* * *

The second and third time, it happens again. 

This time, Neil doesn’t turn on the lights, but he slips away almost instantly and climbs up the loft to his bed. Andrew rolls onto his back and stares at the weight of Neil’s body on the mattress above him, and presses a shaking hand to the wall at his side. 

It takes him a long time to fall back asleep.

* * *

The fifth time, Neil is the one who reacts. 

He doesn’t wake up with violence like Andrew does, but he startles awake all the same, breaths freezing in his chest. It’s close enough to dawn that Andrew can see the whites of his eyes. Neil sits up, presses the palms of his hands to his eyes for a long moment, and walks out of the room. Andrew follows like a silent ghost. 

Neil paces and paces and paces, walks circles around the kitchen until he’s worn thin, and finally says, “I’m going for a run.” 

“Okay,” Andrew says, and is impressed with how even his voice comes out. 

Neil’s gone two hours, and in that time, Andrew sits motionless on the beanbag, reminding himself that Neil will come back. 

And he does come back, like he always does. They don’t speak when Neil walks back through the door, shaking and sweating and red, but Andrew thinks _I’m here, I’m here, I’m here,_ until he knows Neil picks up on it too.

* * *

The eleventh night, Neil wakes up when his alarm goes off. Andrew hears it, entire body startled into awareness. Neil sleepily rolls off the bed, his warmth leaving Andrew’s side. 

Andrew can’t fall back asleep, but they managed to last the entire night, and that’s a success in his book.

* * *

“Grounding yourself can be helpful when you feel out of control like this,” Bee says, during one of their weekly sessions. Her voice is calm, soothing, and the words are familiar too. They’ve talked about this before. 

Andrew pulls his knees up to his chest and rests his chin on them. His gaze stays fixed on the far wall. Bee hums at his silence. 

“It’s not an antidote,” she continues, “But with enough practice, it will get easier.” When Andrew still doesn’t respond, Betsy takes it in stride. “You mentioned that these flashbacks happen after nightmares. Do you get nightmares often?”

Every night, Andrew thinks. Every night and every day. 

“Somewhat,” he says, with a listless shrug. Bee watches him for a long moment, before nodding and jotting something down. 

“And does this feeling of being out of control, does that happen every time for you?” 

“Yes,” Andrew replies honestly, and the next words spill out of his mouth, wobbly and hesitant. “I wish it didn’t.” 

The vulnerability leaves his skin feeling raw and squeamish, but he fights to keep that feeling down. As if Bee can read his thoughts, she says, “I think it marks a lot of growth that you’re able to acknowledge that.” 

Andrew doesn’t respond, but he hears her all the same.

* * *

The nineteenth time, Andrew jerks awake, images flashing behind his eyes in quick succession. He opens his eyes-- _ground yourself,_ Bee whispers in his ear. The dorm is filled with familiar shapes of furniture. He can feel the weight of his comforter on his body, the pillow beneath his head. Neil is at his side, his body familiar. 

Neil wakes up too, probably because of Andrew’s flinch, and rolls over to face him.

“Can I stay?” he whispers, words swallowed by the darkness. Andrew nods mutely, and reaches a hand out for Neil’s. Neil lets him take it, and Andrew traces his thumb over the smooth burns and jagged cuts, and eventually laces his fingers with Neil’s. 

Guess that proves Bee right, he thinks bitterly. Fuck.

* * *

The forty fifth time ends with Neil and Andrew on the roof of the Fox Tower. The cold bites at Andrew’s face, nipping at his exposed skin. A few feet away from him, Neil stares at his cigarette, his eyes distant. Every muscle in his body seems wound up with nervous energy. 

It takes a few minutes for him to start talking, but Andrew’s always been good at waiting. 

“Riko,” Neil says at first. Like that’s explanation enough. Andrew’s still, knowing that there’s more Neil has to say. Neil pauses for a long moment, enough to make itching impatience crawl over Andrew’s skin, and then says unsteadily, “He wouldn’t let me be Neil. I could only be Nathaniel.” 

“I thought I told you to leave Nathaniel buried in Baltimore,” Andrew says. Neil laughs humorlessly. 

“Seems like he crawled his way out.” 

Andrew takes a deep drag of his cigarette and watches the way the smoke curls up into the night air. “What do you need from me?” he asks eventually. 

The tension in Neil’s shoulders abruptly drains out, leaving them slumped. “I just need you here.” 

They stay like that until the sky loses the darkness and begins to bloom with light. The sun peeks over the horizon, glowing orange. Neil stubs out his cigarette, ashing it into the roof, and offers Andrew a hand. Andrew takes it, and they go inside together.

* * *

On the hundred and twenty seventh night, Andrew doesn’t fall asleep at all. 

Aaron’s trial looms over him like a mallet, the weight crushing. He counts Neil’s breaths, how his skin is tacky against Andrew’s, the way they’re fused under the covers. His skin crawls, but he doesn’t flinch or pull away.

He has to be able to handle this, Andrew thinks fiercely. If he can’t handle this one night, how on earth is he going to manage a trial? A trial where everyone will cross examine him, unpack and reveal his weaknesses, push and prod until he has no privacy left? How is he going to be able to keep it together when he’s forced to talk about Drake, the way the bottle smashed against his skull in shards--

Neil’s skin feels bloated and stiff. Andrew drags his thoughts back to the present, pulse racing. Breathe in and out, repeat. 

He has to handle this, he thinks. He has to make it through this one night.

* * *

On the hundred and twenty eighth night, Aaron is a free man, and Andrew sleeps alone in his bed. His skin feels scabbed and rubbed raw, vulnerable and pink, burning whenever anything touches it. 

He sleeps fitfully, but he manages to have a dreamless night.

* * *

The two hundred and fiftieth time, Andrew falls asleep on Neil.

They’re lying together in bed, talking softly, and Neil’s hands are threading through his hair gently. The whole dorm room is quiet, Neil’s body radiating warmth. Andrew hears something Neil says, and thinks of a response, and the next thing he knows, the sun is rising. 

He pushes himself up, the fabric of Neil’s shirt sticking slightly to his face. Neil hasn’t fallen asleep apparently, because his fingers are still combing through Andrew’s hair, and he yawns widely when Andrew pushes himself up.

“I didn’t mean to fall asleep on you,” Andrew says, his voice rough with sleep. 

Neil shrugs lightly. “I don’t mind.” 

“I don’t want you to take care of me.” Andrew says. His voice is tight, blocking out any vulnerability inside.

“I know,” Neil says. He’s clear sighted, and he sees right through Andrew’s defenses. “But I will anyway.”

* * *

The five hundredth time, Andrew purposefully turns himself around so that his back is up against Neil’s chest. Neil freezes for a moment, and pushes himself back so that he’s a careful inch away.

“Andrew?” he asks uncertainly. “Is this-- is this okay?” 

Andrew grits his teeth. Sometimes Neil can be so stupidly oblivious. “I wouldn’t do it if it wasn’t.” 

“Okay,” Neil says, disconcerted, and carefully folds one arm around Andrew’s body. His touch is delicate, like he’s afraid of hurting him. 

Andrew frowns, suddenly frustrated with how he’s being kept at a distance, like he’s _fragile_ , and pushes back until he’s pressed firmly against Neil’s chest. “It’s a _yes,_ Neil.”

“Okay,” Neil says, more firmly this time, and traces patterns with gentle fingers into Andrew’s stomach. His weight is familiar against Andrew’s back and his touch is warm. 

It takes barely five minutes before Andrew’s eyelids are heavy with sleep, and when he wakes up, they haven’t moved an inch.

* * *

The nine hundred forty fifth time, Andrew falls asleep holding Neil’s hand. The apartment is cold, all sleek angles and shiny corners, barely lived in. His new mattress is plush, the sheets brand new, warmed up by two bodies lying on it. The whole place is wholly his own. 

Only one other person has a key, and that’s the one person Andrew trusts more than anything, the person lying next to him.

* * *

The one thousandth fourth hundred and eleventh time, Andrew wakes up to Neil turning on a table lamp. It casts soft, yellow light across Andrew, and he opens his eyes to see Neil in his New York apartment. 

“What?” he croaks. His head feels fuzzy with sleep and sickness. 

“Shh,” Neil soothes, making his way over to the sofa where Andrew’s fallen asleep and crouching next to him. He places one cool hand on Andrew’s forehead and Andrew impulsively leans into the touch. He feels like he’s overheating, and Neil’s hand is a balm on all his senses. “You’re burning up.”

“Neil?” Andrew says, brain still processing. “You’re here?” 

Neil smiles lopsidedly. “Yeah, I’m here. I’m going to grab you some cold medicine and soup, okay?”

“Wait--” Andrew grabs onto Neil’s sleeve before he can stand all the way up, and the action makes his head spin. “Stay.” 

“I’m coming back,” Neil says. “I’m taking care of you.”

“Come back soon,” Andrew murmurs. “I want you here.” 

“Okay,” Neil says softly, and presses a kiss to Andrew’s forehead. “I’ll be back.”

The second the door closes behind him, Andrew groans and closes his eyes. His head is killing him, and all his joints are aching, and he would have thought that he was too uncomfortable to sleep, but he’s out in seconds.

* * *

The two thousandth four hundredth and fifth time, Andrew stirs awake to Kevin Day’s fucking ringtone. Neil groans, and reaches blindly over Andrew to grab his phone. 

“What the fuck,” Neil says, voice rusty from disuse. “It’s four fucking AM.” Andrew groans too, knowing that the second Neil and Kevin start talking, all hope of sleep is lost. 

There’s a moment of blistering silence, and then Neil whispers, “You’re kidding.” He listens to Kevin on the other side, who sounds impatient. “You’re joking.” He pauses a moment. “If you’re fucking with me, I swear to God Kevin, I will _gut_ you--” 

“What?” Andrew says, rolling over so that he’s facing Neil. Neil hangs up on the call, his gaze distant. 

“I made Court,” he whispers, voice trembling. “Kevin confirmed it with Coach Kenzie. I made Court.”

“Congratulations,” Andrew says. “Can we go back to sleep now?”

“We’re going to the Olympics together,” Neil whispers reverently. “We’re going to win _gold_.” 

“You’re unbelievable,” Andrew says. “It’s four AM.” 

“ _Court,_ ” Neil repeats, and this time his hands are shaking too. “ _Olympics.”_

Six and a half years ago, Andrew would have scoffed at him, as if Neil was a wind-up toy with only one subject to talk about. Today, Andrew takes in the pink flush on Neil’s cheeks, the excitement practically vibrating through him, the animated look in his eyes, and thinks, _I want this. I want to keep this._

“Court,” Andrew says, and watches the way a broad, pleased smile cracks Neil’s face in two. “Finally.”

* * *

The two thousand nine hundred and seventeenth time, Andrew wakes up swinging.

Neil jerks away from him with a gasp, but doesn’t go far. Instead, he turns the lights on. Andrew can see his scars, the pattern of them on the cheek. He’s here, he’s now. 

“Andrew,” Neil says firmly. “Tell me where you are.” 

“New York City,” Andrew says hoarsely. “I’m here.”

It’s been a few months since he’s had a nightmare that vivid, like he can still feel the phantom hands on his body, the shuddering, jerky feeling of a body that doesn’t belong to him. It’s been a few years since Andrew woke up that violently, and it sends a shiver through him. 

Relapse is part of recovery, Betsy would say. Andrew repeats that like a mantra. Relapse isn’t preventable, but he can manage it. He can manage this. 

“Did I hurt you?” Andrew asks, his stomach twisting itself into knots. Neil meets his gaze calmly and shakes his head. 

“You’re safe,” Neil repeats, and Andrew nods. He’s safe, he’s safe, he’s safe.

* * *

The three thousandth one hundred and ninety first time, Andrew wakes up when the sun spills across his face in gentle lines. He makes a small, sleep-happy sound from where his back is pressed against Neil’s front, and stretches out slightly. Neil exhales in that slow, gentle way so Andrew knows he’s just woken up, and kisses the side of Andrew’s neck. His lips are soft, his touch comfortable. The blanket is crumpled around them, a small cocoon of warmth. Andrew rolls over and finally cracks his eyes open. 

When he’s just waking up like this, Neil looks younger, the smile lines in his face smoothing out. Andrew curls up facing him, not willing to step out of bed right now. 

“Good morning,” Neil says softly, his eyes still closed. Andrew makes another small sound and reaches his hand out to cup Neil’s cheek. Neil smiles at that, gently, and Andrew leans in to kiss him. 

It’s a mark of how far they’ve come, Andrew thinks, that they can read each other so well. 

Neil blooms under the kiss like a wildflower, and his thumb rubs soothing circles into Andrew’s arm. 

“Should we get up?” Andrew hums when they finally separate. Neil’s eyes are so, so blue when they open, wide and trusting and beautiful. The sun splashes onto his face, lighting up his freckles, and Neil shakes his head sleepily. 

“Not yet.”

“Okay,” Andrew replies, and curls up until he’s next to Neil, their limbs entwined. The sheets are soft against his skin and Neil’s touch feels like candlelight, safe and happy and home. 

Andrew breathes out, and before he knows it, he’s asleep again.

**Author's Note:**

> andrew is the little spoon and i will die on this hill! if you enjoyed please leave kudos or a comment, any feedback is appreciated <3


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